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DANIEL WEBSTER.
Of words spoken in recent times, few have touched so many hearts as
those uttered by Sir Walter Scott on his deathbed. There has seldom
been so much of mere enjoyment crowded into the compass of one
lifetime as there was into his. Even his work--all of his best
work--was only more elaborate and keenly relished play; for
story-telling, the occupation of his maturity, had first been the
delight of his childhood, and remained always his favorite recreation.
Triumph rewarded his early efforts, and admiration followed him to the
grave. Into no human face could this man look, nor into any crowd of
faces, which did not return his glance with a gaze of admiring love.
He lived precisely where and how it was happiest for him to live; and
he had above most men of his time that disposition of mind which makes
the best of bad fortune and the most of good. But when his work and
his play were all done, and he came calmly to review his life, and the
life of man on earth, this was the sum of his reflections, this was
what he had to say to the man to whom he had confided his daughter's
happiness:
"Lockhart, I may have but a minute to speak to you.
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